


Courage Only Costs an Arm

by Romiress



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon is looked at and then ignored, Gen, Past Abuse, Slow recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, crime syndicate, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 14:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: As Harold Jordan thanks the man who frees him from the Ring of Volthoom, he is content. Even if he dies, at least he dies a free man.But Harold doesn't die.





	Courage Only Costs an Arm

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Courage Only Costs an Arm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183020) by [BlueHUNTER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueHUNTER/pseuds/BlueHUNTER)



He does not feel pain when his arm is cut off. He feels _nothing_ when it is cut off, the sudden and obvious _absence_ of the pain that has plagued him for years. One moment it’s there, constantly burning into him, and the next it is gone, replaced by something so minor that he can’t even consider it pain.

He is happy, just for a moment. He is content. He is _free_.

“The ring...” He says to himself, barely aware that he’s not alone. “It’s finally gone.”

Something floats above him. Yellow--Sinestro--looms overhead, raising his hand. He knows what’s coming, but he no longer has the strength to even pretend to fight. It’s better this way.

“Thank you,” he says.

Something happens above him so fast that he can’t follow it with his eyes. There’s the sound of arguing that he can barely follow, and then something presses to the stump where his arm once was.

He can smell the flesh cooking, but he barely registers the pain.

“Didn’t even flinch,” a man says above him. His voice means nothing, creating no spark of recognition.

“Just let him die,” Sinestro says. “It would be easier for everyone.”

“I’m not going to let him die,” the man above him says. He’s binding the stump, his hand blurring in place as he tries to stem the bleeding.

“You should,” Sinestro says. “That’s all he wanted for a long time. He thanked me for it, even knowing what I was going to do.”

“Because he didn’t have options,” the man above him says. “He does now.”

A hand touches his face, tilting his head up. He sees a lot of red, a mask pulled over the top of their face.

Flash, he registers. This world’s version of Johnny Quick, and he flinches away.

“Too much of a coward to ever be any use,” Sinestro says. “But if you insist, allow me to handle him. You have work to be doing.”

Something bright and yellow jostles him, a massive hand sliding under him.

“Just get him to a hospital,” the nicer man says, the one who might be Johnny or might not.

Then he’s gone, leaving nothing behind.

“You’re lucky,” Sinestro says with a small laugh. “Because if he’d been even a second slower, you’d already be dead.”

Harold isn’t sure that would be such a bad thing after all.

\---

People come in and out of his hospital room, but they don’t pay him any mind. Most of them don’t look at him. Some of them look at his arm, and some of them simply stand at a distance and talk among themselves. The nurses and doctors come intermittently, pulling his sleeve away to inspect the damage.

Sometimes they ask him questions, and he’s silent. He’s not sure what the correct answer is. He doesn’t want to get it wrong.

Eventually--he’s not sure how long later--the nice man comes back. The one that moves so quickly, and who reminds him of Johnny Quick. But he has a nice enough smile, and he’s the first one to sit down at Harold’s bedside and ask him questions, rather than standing at the foot of the bed with a clipboard and a hard look.

The man--who says his name is Barry--asks him questions, and Harold answers those. He tries not to lie, even if sometimes Barry looks upset by the answers, because he knows that lying is bad.

No one’s hurt him yet, but he’s pretty sure that’s just because no one important enough has decided to come see him.

Eventually they do. Ultraman comes to see him, and Harold pulls away in fear. He does not have the ring to protect himself. Whatever Ultraman wants to do to him, he cannot even pretend to have the power to stop him.

Ultraman leaves as quickly as he came. Eventually Barry comes back, and sits with him again, and tells him that he’s safe. Harold doesn’t really believe him, but he pretends like he does, because that’s obviously the answer Barry’s looking for.

After a few days, Harold musters up the courage to ask Barry what’s happening. Barry gives him a sad look, reaching out to ghost a hand over his injured shoulder. He doesn’t touch him--he learned that lesson back on the first day, when Harold flinched back so hard he pulled his IV out--but gets close.

“They’re running tests,” Barry says. “To make sure there there won’t be any issues with your health.”

It doesn’t really answer the question, but Harold isn’t willing to ask again.

A few days later, Barry tells him that the tests are done. He tells him that he’s lucky, and that if he’d spent maybe a year more with the ring, he’d probably have died.

Harold doesn’t _feel_ lucky.

\---

Days pass. They give him food and water. Doctors check his bandages. Barry visits sometime, but only rarely does someone else visit. He is, for the most part, forgotten.

Eventually someone shows up who makes him retreat farther back in his bed, going so far as to make a brief attempt at escape. Barry isn’t there to rescue him, and Thomas has come back to make sure he can’t sell out any of their secrets.

But it isn’t Thomas. Or at least he says he’s not Thomas when he finally gets Harold back into bed. He looks pained and confused, and asks Harold only a few questions. Mostly about himself. About the ring, and what he was doing before the ring found him. He’s sure there’s a point to the questions, but he doesn’t understand what it is.

The man tries to pat his knee, and Harold jerks back so hard he almost falls out of bed. The man doesn’t try again.

When he leaves, Harold curls up in his bed and tries not to think at all.

\---

Barry comes back for him a few days later, settling into his normal seat. Harold doesn’t understand why Barry keeps coming, but he decides it’s the one nice thing that’s happened since the Ring found him, so it’s not so bad.

Barry tells him he’s going to be honest, which only serves to make Harold nervous. Then he tells him that the Justice League--which is supposed to be like the Crime Syndicate, but good, apparently--doesn’t know what to do with him.

“We can’t just stick you in prison,” Barry says, rather matter of fact. “Your situation was complicated.”

Harold almost says that he helped. That it wasn’t just the ring. But it seems like Barry things that the ring did _all_ of it, and he’s afraid of what Barry might say if he explains. He doesn’t want Barry to leave. Barry is the only thing he has.

“I was thinking you could come live with me,” Barry says. “Just for a while. Until you get settled, and until you get used to your arm.”

He’s pretty sure Barry’s talking about the fact that his entire right arm is missing, but that isn’t really that unusual. It had been rotting for weeks, barely usable. He’d gotten used to doing things with his left.

He doesn’t tell Barry that. If he does, Barry might decide not to let him stay.

\---

Barry’s apartment isn’t very large, but Harold is fine with that. He prefers it small. There’s a guest room for him, decorated with all sorts of things. It looks homey. It takes everything he has not to cry. There’s even a bed for him, and Barry gets a funny look on his face when Harold mentions it in passing.

Harold realizes it was the wrong thing to say--that of _course_ there would be a bed--and stops talking.

Barry hovers over him as he goes about his day, watching to make sure he does everything correct. He isn’t sure what _correct_ is, but he does everything he can to make sure Barry stays happy, looking to him for approval at every turn.

He ruins things the first night he’s back. He wakes screaming to find Barry standing over him, reaching down to try and do _something_. He’s deep in a panic attack, unable to stop himself, and can’t even hear Barry. He pulls away, the screaming tapering off to sobs, and hides in the closet.

He knows Barry will be angry. He knows Barry is going to send him away. But he needs someplace just for himself.

Barry doesn’t come in after him.

Eventually the hunger gets too bad, and Harold crawls his way out of the closet. There’s a tray of food left out for him, even if it’s cold, and he eats it quietly before returning back.

It takes him two days to leave his room, terrified that at any moment Barry--or worse, Ultraman--is going to pull the door of its hinges.

He doesn’t. When he emerges from his room, Barry just looks at him sadly and tells him he got him something. Harold knows it’s going to hurt, but he goes anyway.

Barry shows him the new clothes he’s got him, and a set of toiletries. Harold keeps waiting for the catch, but it doesn’t come.

When he comes out of his room the next time, Barry’s on the phone. He doesn’t hear him, and Harold freezes, half in and half out, listening to him talk.

“He’s so fucked _up_ , Hal,” Barry says into the phone. “He flinches if I touch him, he flinches if I don’t touch him, he hides in the closet...”

Harold can’t hear the other end of the conversation, but he does hear Barry pause. He holds his breath, afraid Barry’s going to catch him snooping. If Barry catches it, that’ll be it.

“He’s so afraid I’m going to hurt him, Hal. It’s killing me. But what am I going to do? He doesn’t have anyone else.”

There’s another pause, and then Barry sputters.

“No, Hal,” he says. “I’m not saying you should. I know that would be - that would be weird. And no one else from the league can, because if he sees them he freaks out even harder. He at least seems to like me, as much as he likes anyone.”

Harold decides he _does_ like Barry. He’s been nice. He hasn’t done anything to hurt him. So whatever Barry wants, Barry will get.

\---

Whatever Barry asks of him, he does it. He tries not to let himself hesitate, and he tries not to let himself flinch, either. He answers any questions Barry asks, and when he overhears Barry telling the man on the other end of the phone that he’s been _more engaged_ , he tentatively starts asking questions of his own.

Barry seems to like when he asks questions.

He learns that Barry is The Flash, and that he’s just like Johnny Quick is: Fast. He isn’t often fast at home, but when Harold stops flinching every time he moves quickly, he starts doing it more. Before long he’s blurring around the house with shocking regularity, and Harold’s mostly numb to it.

Johnny was _never_ as bad as Ultraman or Owlman, after all.

Barry starts giving him tasks--on advice from an actual medical doctor, apparently--to help with his dexterity. Harold actually does well with them, which seems to please Barry, so he practices the whole time Barry is at work.

He wonders if there was a Barry in his own world.

He hopes there wasn’t. If there was a Barry in his world, he’s sure he would have faced a horrible fate.

\---

He is alone when the front door opens. It isn’t unusual--any time Barry leaves he’s technically alone--but he freezes every time it happens, waiting for Barry to call out. He doesn’t, which means it’s not Barry, and he weighs his options. If he flees to his room, they might not find him. But if he tries to run, and member of the syndicate would hurt him for his cowardice. In the end, he stays frozen, unable to decide until it’s already too late.

The man who walks into view is not a member of the Crime Syndicate. He knows that for sure because the man is _him_. His face. His looks. But the body language is all wrong. This man stands tall, shrugging off his bomber jacket.

On his finger is a green ring.

Harold doesn’t have the courage to stay in the room. He flees in terror. He curls in his closet, waiting to hear the footfalls of his doppelganger approaching, but they don’t come.

Barry comes to him later, his footsteps lighter. He’s more practiced at this now, and has an easier time coaxing him out.

“Harold,” he says. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

“He won’t,” Harold says quietly. “The ring will.”

“That isn’t... that isn’t the ring you’re used to, Harold,” Barry says patiently. “It’s a different ring. He’s not going to hurt you.”

He cannot be convinced to come out of the closet until the man is gone.

It takes two more visits--both with Barry in attendance--before Harold is willing to be in the same room as his duplicate. The other Harold--who Barry tells him is named Hal--looks pained as he watches Barry guide him into the room. The ring is not on, which is the only reason Harold doesn’t cut and run.

The ring not being there helps, because the Ring of Volthoom cannot be removed. If it were _that_ ring, the only way it would come off is if he’d taken his hand off entirely.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Hal says, still keeping his distance. “I didn’t mean to startle you. The fact that Barry had a roommate slipped my mind.”

Barry frowns at that, and Harold gets the impression that Hal has somehow said the wrong thing.

“I know it’s probably a strange thing, talking to your duplicate--” Hal starts, and Barry mutters something under his breath about it happening often enough. “--But I was hoping I’d be able to help you out, if you’ll let me. We have a lto in common, from what Barry’s told me.”

Harold is struggling to see what they have in common. The same _base_ , yes. The same man. But so drastically different they have almost nothing in common. Hal’s shoulders are squared. He is confident. And most of all Harold is sure he sits beside the Justice League as _equals_ , rather than as their dog.

“Barry was thinking it might be good for you to get some... some therapy,” Hal says. “But he’s got work, and he can’t just drive you around anywhere, so he asked me to see if I’d be willing to take you.”

Harold doesn’t want to go with Hal. He doesn’t even want to leave the apartment. But he looks at Barry, and Barry smiles at him, so he nods just the same.

“I’ll go,” he says.

“Good!” Hal says, smiling at him brightly. Harold isn’t sure where he gets the energy. How does he have the enthusiasm for it all?

\---

Therapy is not what Harold expects. His therapist is a nice young woman who seems to be expecting something quite different from what she gets. He plays along, because Barry sat him down and asked him to, but he’s not sure he’s making much progress.

But the drives with Hal give him at least the courage to ask the question that’s been burning at him since he first woke up, even if he’s sure there will be consequences for asking.

“What happened to the ring?” He finally asks.

Hal glances only briefly down to his ring--Harold isn’t as bothered by it, even if it still alarms him at times--and then glances back up to look at Harold in the rear view mirror.

“Your ring?” He asks.

“It wasn’t my ring,” Harold says.

He was the rings, not vice versa, and he’s not sure anyone really understands that.

“It found a new host,” Hal says. “After it left you.”

Harold wonders if Barry could have found it if he hadn’t been so busy saving his life. It probably would have been better for everyone if he had.

“You should kill them,” Harold says quietly as they pull into the parking lot. “It would be a mercy.”

Hal’s expression is pained as he glances over his shoulder, looking at Harold.

“They’re alright,” he says. “They had... they had a lot of help, and they got the ring under control. It’s not killing them. It’s not hurting them at all anymore.”

Harold doesn’t believe that. He doesn’t believe anyone is that strong. But it’s obvious that Hal does, and he doesn’t want to contradict him, so he goes quiet.

\---

Sometimes Barry is gone for days at a time. Harold has plenty of food in the house, and Barry’s taught him to cook and take care of things. He manages the house and lets himself calm down, safe in isolation. Most of the time when Barry’s gone, Hal shows up to cover for him and make sure he makes his appointment, but when Hal starts going on missions again, he ends up having to make his own way there.

It’s hard, but he manages, and he feels, just for a moment, almost _confident._

The feeling passes quickly.

He prefers when Barry is home. Even if he’s still jumpy, he likes having the other man around. He’s mastered dealing with most of Harold’s eccentricities. He knows not to touch him. He knows what things to say or not say. Harold doesn’t think he realizes how much power he has over him, but decides that’s probably better. Even if Barry _seems_ nice, it’s better he not know.

Power does awful things to people.

\---

Harold wakes frequently in the night, plagued by dreams, but he doesn’t wake screaming as much as he used to. But that one night, the night he always remembers, he wakes screaming. He feels like his body is on fire. He rolls in place and pukes, coughing at the agony coursing through him.

Barry doesn’t come. Barry isn’t there. No one comes to rescue him, and when the pain finally ebbs Harold is left to crawl to the bathroom on his own and clean himself up.

He feel miserable.

\---

He hears Barry coming back the following morning. The pain from the night before gone, he finds that he actually feels just fine when he sits up. The room still smells of puke, but when he gets to his feet he feels better than he has in a while.

“I brought pancakes!” Barry yells from the kitchen, and Harold ventures out, happy he at least thought to change.

Barry’s face goes white when he sees him, and he zips forward into Harold’s space in a way he hasn’t in a long while.

“Hold still,” Barry says, reaching up to take his jaw, tiling his head up and to the side. Harold almost screams, the gesture far too familiar, and the only mercy is that Barry pulls back quickly.

“Take off your shirt,” he says.

Harold does, his anxiety skyrocketing. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t understand at all until he takes it off and looks down.

The green-black veins which radiated out from his shoulder are gone. The damage done by the ring seems to have vanished overnight, and Harold suddenly realizes what the pain was. The realization is almost enough to suppress his panic, and Barry seems to catch on, zipping away before returning with all the tools he needs to help calm himself down.

He gives him space and lets him process it, and only returns--giving ihm proper space--once Harold is calm.

“What happened?” Barry asks. “Did you just wake up like this?”

“I was sick,” Harold says. “It... hurt a lot.”

Barry’s eyebrows go up.

“Considering you,” he ssays. “I’m pretty sure most people would have passed out from that kind of pain.”

Harold stares down at his hands.

“I don’t know what happened,” he says.

“Hold on,” Barry says. “I need to call Hal.”

He zips away, and Harold sits on the couch, listening to half the conversation. It doesn’t last long--and it doesn’t make much sense, with a lot of terms that don’t make sense like _Black Racer_ \--and then Barry’s back, dropping his phone into his pocket.

“Found out what happened,” Barry says. “To keep it short, the thing that was in the ring--the thing you used to talk to--got killed. So it seems like when it died, the hold it still had on you died with it.”

Harold reaches up, ghosting his fingers over the shoulder. It feels strange to not have the bulging veins there. To be _whole_ again.

“It was eating you up,” Barry says. “But it seems like it wouldn’t actually _swallow_ until you were dead. So now everything it took from you is back.”

Harold knows that isn’t true. He knows things were taken from him that he’ll never get back. But it feels good to say it anyway, and he lets himself sag into Barry’s shoulder and cry, just that once.

Barry doesn’t hurt him. He just wraps an arm around his shoulders, giving him a small hug, and lets him cry.


End file.
